eyes, but
her sullen mouth looked furiously at me as rigidly clutching her luggage
she barred my path. Fearing some trap, I turned off the ignition and
unobtrusively slid the keys into a sidepocket before getting out and
going to her.

"Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?"

She threw her head back and her eyes, brown and glistening, appraised me
through heavily painted lashes. I stood there stiffly, uncomfortable
under her gaze till I suddenly remembered my hat and lifted it with an
awkward bow. This seemed to satisfy her, for still without speaking she
nodded and thrust the two suitcases at me. Not knowing what else to do,
I took them from her and she promptly, after smoothing her gloves,
walked toward the passenger's side of the car.

"You want me to take you somewhere, miss?" I inquired quite
superfluously.

She bent her head the merest fraction and then rested her fingers on the
doorhandle, waiting for me to open it for her. I ran as fast as I could
with the bags--they were beautifully matched expensive luggage--to put
them in the turtle and then had to make myself still more ridiculous by
running back for the forgotten key resting in the sidepocket. When I had
finally stowed away the baggage and opened the door for her she got in
with the barest of condescending nods for my efforts and sat staring
ahead.

I drove very slowly, nipping off little glances of her profile as we
moved along. Her cheeks were smooth as a chinadoll's, her nose the
chiseled replica of some lovely antique marble, her mouth a living study
of rounded lines; never had I been so close to such an alluring woman.
We reached the Civic Center and I automatically headed for the
_Intelligencer_ building. But I could not bear to part company so
quickly and so I turned left instead, out Macy Street.

Now we found ourselves caught in the traffic snailing eastward. In low
gear I drove a block, then stopped and waited till a clear ten feet
ahead permitted another painfully slow forward motion. Still my
passenger had no word to say but kept staring ahead though she could see
nothing before her except the trunkladen rearend of a tottery ford long
past its majority.

"You," I stumbled, "I--that is, I mean wasnt there somewhere in
particular you wanted to go?"

She nodded, still without looking at me, and for the first time spoke.

Her voice was deep and had the timbre of some old bronze bell. "Yuma,"
she said.

"Yuma, Arizona?" I asked stupidly.